


Back of the Line

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Fate/Beautiful Forest Hobo [1]
Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hot Pocket eating, Mutual Pining, Snacks & Snack Food, food stealing, sorry arash!, this is like. pre-emiya and before it's revealed that robin can cook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: There's gotta be some reason why she keeps bringing him along, right?





	Back of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so MAYBE it isn't actually "Ritsuka" but it's in the spirit of main characters in mobile games. Anyway I'm putting black girls in everything bc I say so and I make the rules now! Bye!

“I’m not a hard hitter, Master, but I’ll do my best.”

This is the second time she’s brought him on such a mission. With his hood up, it’s hard to be seen by the enemy, and though he stands in the back of the fighter lineup- ‘Clean up crew,’ she calls it- he can’t help wondering why she bothered bringing him along with her. Lancers are always a spot of trouble for him, so Siegfried stands in front with Bedivere as support. 

He _ did _ tell her he’d support from the back, but this wasn’t what he had in mind. Master isn’t the worst at tactical lineups- hence the Sabers up front, Lancers off to the right, and he, the lone archer, near Master. If anything went wrong and the Servants had to pull back, he could always set off a cloud of poison and they can stage a retreat- or use his Yew Bow to finish off whatever enemies were left. 

“Hmmmmm.” She was leaning on him again. Not that he minded. Or maybe he should? He hadn’t gotten that part straight yet. Coils of her curly hair brushed against his shoulders ever so often; Chaldea’s brand of shampoo had a very specific smell that he wasn’t used to, his fingers twitching near the edge of his cloak as he ran down the list of natural ingredients he knew by smell to pinpoint them-

“Perfect! We’re done here!” The weight comes off, and he feels a twinge of loneliness afterward but restrains himself. Soon she’s running out to the other servants and giving them all of her attention. 

He doesn’t mind not having to do much, but the nagging feeling of not actually being part of the ‘Clean Up Crew’ tugs at him sharply. Other than miniscule damage, he knows he can’t do much for finishing up a battle other heroic spirits have started but were unable to battle through, so-

Vaguely, he smiles. He’s thinking too hard about it again, and spending too much time with Master is messing with his head. She’s a moderately good tactician at her level, but there’s still room for mistakes, as long as her priorities are in order. “Nothing to worry about,” he finds himself murmuring before joining the rest of the team. 

* * *

“Robin!”

The sound of footsteps got to him long before she did; it was a little funny that she caught him when he was actually around, and not just hiding from one of the Emiyas (the one more dangerous with a spatula than a bow, he felt to clarify. There always seemed to be a lot of “Emiyas” around Chaldea, and he wasn’t nosy enough to figure out why), so he waited for her to reach him before giving her an easy smile. “Yeah, Master?”

“Cloak! Your cloak, I need your cloak, hide me…!” She doesn’t actually wait for him to answer, just hides behind him, flips the back of his cloak up, and wiggles her head and as much of her body she can fit underneath it. It wasn’t very much of her, so she crouched for extra measure. 

His lip twitched in amusement. Before stealing a little glance back at her, he says, “You know, Master, it won’t work unless I put my hood up.”

“Put it up!” She whispers ardently, and he suddenly wonders what she did and who exactly is chasing after her. “Put it up!!!!!”

He blows a little air out of his mouth with a cheerful hum. “Alright, alright.” The hood comes up, and not a moment too soon; the _ thwack, thwack, thwack- _ing of Dr. Roman’s heavy footsteps scuttle across the floor as he runs straight past them to the end of the hallway. 

“Ifumi! You have to eat your vegetables!” He seems particularly winded from his sprint after her, and, seeing he’s lost track of her, Roman all but gives up, wiping the sweat from his brow and leaning back like an old man who’s slept on his side the wrong way. 

Robin restrains himself from snorting. As far as he knows, Master is an adult, not a six year old, but speaking would ruin the whole thing. 

“It’s to keep up your...stamina.” Roman sighs and leans back again, rolling his skinny little shoulders before he breaks out into another little jog down the hall, and then to the right, towards the cafeteria. After a moment or two passes, Robin clears his throat ever so, but Master doesn’t move. If anything, she’d pressed even closer to his back, her head making a huge bulge behind his shoulders because she’s almost the same height as him, and still crouching to be covered. 

“He’s gone.” He assures her, and she takes this cue to poke her eye out to peek at him. Somewhat distrusting, she looks for herself before completely abandoning the shelter and lets out a deep breath. 

“Thanks...” She’s brushing herself off now, but some of her coils have popped up from her ponytail, slicked down hair in the front now full of little flyaways that resemble the cloud of black freely bouncing about in the back. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He just crosses his arms at her and turns away from her relieved expression. 

“What?”

“I didn’t know you could be defeated by broccoli.” It comes out even more comically than he hoped; the little laugh coming up from his throat makes it easier to meet her eyes, but only from off to the side. 

“I-” Her mouth twists into a pout. “That’s not…!” And then, while straightening her back, “Funny.”

“I’m not judging you,” he was, he could, and he would aloud if she wasn’t already getting flustered, “but you’ve gotta keep your stamina up, Master. For the good of the world and all that, hm?”

“I’m…!!” She huffs. “Look, I just don’t like lima beans! I’m a grown adult! I don’t just skip entire meals because there’s no meat!” The on-cue growl of her stomach silences her. She crosses her arms over it to muffle the sound, pressing her lips together so that her face resembles that of a disgruntled chipmunk. “...usually.”

His crooked grin widens. 

“Don’t laugh!”

He doesn’t, shoulders heaving up and down respectfully, but he does rub his nose at her, still smiling smugly. “Alright, Master. I won’t ask any questions,” he shrugs, “I’m just your humble Servant.” 

Her expression sours, as it usually does when he reminds her. Without prompting, he continues, “Well, _ I’m _ famished! Hearing that made me crave something tasty!”

“What?” Obviously Servants don’t _ need _ to eat. 

He gestures in the direction opposite of the cafeteria, down to where the common areas are, where each Servant has been given their own room. “I know where the other Archers hide their snacks,” and then, nonchalantly, “if you’re interested in that kinda thing.”

Her eyes grow wide, and at first he isn’t sure if it’s at the thought of stealing something- his personal specialty- or if she’s just excited for something that doesn't taste like waxy vegetables or food supplements. Then she gloms onto him, both hands clasping one of his as excitement sparkles in her eyes like stars. “Where?!”

* * *

“You know,” he says, mouth full of Arash’s stash of pita chips and hummus, “you really should eat your vegetables. It’s all about a balanced di-”

Her elbow nudges into his side in the right spot to get him to choke on his stolen snack, still chomping on David’s stash of mini cookies. Swallowing afterwards is difficult, but worth it. 

“Jeez, I’m just looking out for you, you know.” He half-gripes, then grabs a warm Hot Pocket (that he knows will not be missed) and offers it to her. She almost snatches it out of his grasp, though he doesn’t miss how carefully she nudges him afterward. 

“It’s not an everyday thing,” she mutters, biting deeply into the Hot Pocket before she stops. For some reason she goes completely still; carefully, she lowers it from her mouth, the Hot Pocket uneaten except for deep teeth marks near the middle, and holds it in both of her hands. 

“Got a whole chest if it’s the wrong filling,” he rummages around in the ice box for a moment, ready to offer her another before he pops it in the microwave, but she shakes her head.

“It’s cold in the middle.”

It sounds different than a request to warm it up, or to give her another, like a box containing something other than the label on the outside. He just waits, draping one arm over his knee. “Don’t have to eat it.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, but she’s still cradling it like a child in her lap. Suddenly, she asks, “What was your home like?”

This is so out of left field that it’s almost hard for him to act coolly about it. Almost. “Sherwood Forest? Lots of animals and old people.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Lots of bird poop. That sort of thing.”

She shakes her head at him, her legs crossing beneath her as she carefully keeps the hot pocket from touching the ground. “I mean your home. Your family.”

He inhales deeply through his nose as he thinks about it, eyes closing just slightly to answer in the most genuine way he can, but it still feels rough and indescribable. He’d learned how to live _ with _ the forest instead of in it, but didn’t see a child his age until he was fourteen. “Lonely.”

She nods like an old lady in a rocking chair. “Is it any better here?”

Robin wants to say no, but he’d be lying if he didn’t think Hot Pockets or microwaves were pretty cool. Or, that, more interestingly, he felt _ understood _ in Chaldea. But not only by the other Servants living there. “Less lonely,” he admits, though he nods to himself about it, as all times are somewhat lonely. 

Again, she bobs her head, though this time she leans on him. He isn’t quite used to this sort of comfort, but if she keeps this up, he’s going to start craving the closeness. “Less lonely,” she repeats, savoring it in her mouth. Suddenly, she says, “I ate a lot of Hot Pockets at home.”

He makes a humming sound with his throat. “People of this time eat a lot of them, don’t they?”

She snorts. “Not on purpose. They’re kinda greasy and gross...I go to school in the fall-” She breaks off before starting again, almost like she’s heard her own words and regrets them. “...I _ went _ to school in the fall and spring semesters, and we always resorted to them for late night snacks, but they just remind me of my mom. She works- _ worked ...a _ lot, when I was young.” Her nose nuzzles into his shoulder a little. “I thought it would be okay, but I guess hot pockets with frozen middles still make me think of home.”

She falls silent, then, and the weight on his shoulder lightens. Before he can ask if something’s wrong, he hears the sharpest of inhales. Her lips are pressed together when he turns to look at her; tears streak her sun-kissed cheeks, though her eyes are squeezed shut. Exhale. It’s so _ loud _, somehow, in that small space near the bed and far wall, that he knows she’s been holding her breath. 

Without thinking about it, his free hand comes up; he hesitates, though only for a moment before he lets it settle on top of her head. He’s hesitant, still, when he gives her an experimental pat before he lowers his hand a little, and their eyes meet.

Her puffy eyes squint at him a little as confusion dances across her features, from her brown eyes to the dark freckles across her nose. “Mm?”

He turns away, as he knows his own embarrassment usually shows up in his eyes. “If it’s that bad, give it to me then.”

She blinks at him, though a slow smile pulls at one corner of her mouth. After exactly one head shake, Master takes another deep breath to prepare herself, eyes closing as she clutches the greasy treat in both her hands. Then she chomps down a bit too hard, right into the frozen part (which he knows because she makes a little ‘eep’ sound). 

“Hey-”

“Mmmfh!” She commands with a shooing motion, then chews with some difficulty. After she swallows, she takes a deep breath. “I can eat it. I have to keep up my strength.”

He wants to tell her he could’ve made another one, or they could’ve eaten popcorn (which is quickly becoming his favorite snack) but only crosses his arms, watching her impassively, wishing he didn’t understand why she’d done it. Wishing he didn’t know why she pushed herself. Wishing-

With a little exaggerated sigh, he unties his cloak and drapes it over her in a flourish before pulling the hood up. She seems smaller in it, especially with only her eyes peeking out of the hood like she doesn’t know how to process the action.

“Wouldn’t want other Servants to see you, right?”

She relaxes a little, eyes closing as her forehead touches to his shoulder. Then she leans on him again, closer, too, than before, quietly eating the rest of her “lunch” as she does. Robin drapes both of his arms over his knees and closes his eyes too. Soon the hot pocket is gone and she’s reaching for napkins; he wants to tell her not to move around too much, or someone will figure out where she is, but he knows she’ll ignore him. He also knows, when she wraps her arms around one of his, that he can’t tell her no. He doesn’t want to. 

‘Clean up crew’. “Hm,” he hums, then shakes his head. She’s more clever than he gave her credit for.


End file.
